Hologram
by arabellagaleotti
Summary: "Tony?" He makes no sign he's heard him, just keeps dancing to music - some new pop song that Steve hasn't learnt the name to yet. Another person walzes into frame, this one a teenger. Steve stares. He looks no more than 16 at most, wearing sneakers and a corny t-shirt with a scient pun on it. Steve catches Tony watching some memories. They talk, and maybe everything will be okay.


Steve walks down the hallway, in the direction of the living room.

Music is playing. He peeks his head around the door. Tony's there. Smiling, looking happy and free. He hasn't looked like that for a long time.

"Tony?" He makes no sign he's heard him, just keeps dancing to music - some new pop song that Steve hasn't learnt the name to yet. Another person walzes into frame, this one a teenger. Steve stares. He looks no more than 16 at most, wearing sneakers and a corny t-shirt with a scient pun on it.

Tony laughs, joining the kid in the middle of the carpet.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Steve steps forward, "who is this kid?"

Neither reply, just keep dancing. The kid knows all the words, getting into it with all of his heart and soul. He beams when Tony joins in, even though he's a bit faulty on some of the lyrics.

Steve reaches for Tony, but he spins through his outstretched arms. The hologram splinters, dissolving in a multi-faceted sprinkle of what looks like glass. What's left is the real Tony Stark, drunk to oblivion with a few - empty - bottles around him.

"Oh, hey Cap," Tony slurs, peering at me blurrily. "Where'd Peter go? He was right… right here," Tony leans forward, gesturing to where the hologram used to be.

"Who is Peter?" he asks, stepping forward. Tony picks up a bottle of oak-brown whiskey, taking a long swig.

"Peter? You've met Peter."

"No, I haven't," Steve continues, taking the bottle out of his hand. He barely protests, more distracted by my answer.

"In Germany. You fought Spidey, 'member?" Tony grins.

Spider-man?! But… Holy shit.

 _Tony brought a teenager to a war-zone._

Steve sways, looking as drunk as Tony. "Wait...what?" A white-hot rage fills him.

 _Tony brought a teenager to a war-zone._

"Yeah. I know you'd be mad when you find out, but Petey was Spider-boy long before I found him. It's lucky I did. He was running around in a hoodie," Tony snorts, laughing drunkeny at the memory.

"So you made him a suit and sent him in to fight a battle?" Steve says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Tony's forehead draws together, "it wasn't meant to be a battle, Cap. It was meant to be a negotiation," the billionaire gathers up his shoulders and slumps them in an exaggerated shrug. "I guess it didn't turn out like that."

"No, I guess it didn't." Steve says heavily, slumping onto the couch. The anger drains out of him. He feels...tired. That's it. After everything with the acords and Bucky and then the snap. Everything is messed up, everything seems pointless. How do you reverse this?

It's silent for a long while, just the dull, storm-filtered sunlight reaching in thought he windows, glass bottles gleaming on the coffee table.

"He...he died in my arms, you know," Tony says quietly, contemplating the bottle in his hand. "The closest thing I've ever had to a kid, and he dies in my arms. Just my luck, I guess."

Steve takes too long to reply, "I'm sure you were good to him." he says, stilted, slowly, in a voice that sounds as sincere as he can make it. To Tony it probably sounds fake.

"Not good enough," Tony remarks, face stripped of its usual armour.

I'm not talking red and gold, I'm talking his bravado, his charm, his charisma, his outrageousness. Steve's realizing now that Tony Stark is little more than a facade, at least all he's seen of him is.

The real Tony Stark - few people have seen him. Steve himself hasn't, not truly. Pepper has, Rhodey, maybe Happy. All he knows is the faint traces of PTSD, the worried looks they give him. Pepper's referenced a few things, things not meant to be overheard. The team pierced it all together, although no-one's ever mentioned it.

I don't think they ever will.

"I'm sorry, Tony." Steve whispers, a little of his broken soul bleeding through, carried by the pang of memories, of what he's done.

"Me too."


End file.
